


red like roses (like your blood flowing through me)

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, BAMF Stiles, M/M, Magical Realism, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Serial Killer Stiles Stilinski, Sociopath Stiles Stilinski, i love that that's a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:17:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: Peter looks at him one day, after the bite and a refused offer and so much blood spilled between all of them, and says, “So you’re the clever one.”And Stiles - thinks:why, how nice of you to notice,andwell obviously you haven’t talked to Scott or Derek recently as they tend to disagree and I hear their opinions are invaluable,andoh, this is going to be fun- smiles, all teeth and charm and vitriolic wit, and says, “Yeah, something like that.”





	red like roses (like your blood flowing through me)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head for ages because I love Dark!Stiles and Magic!Stiles and Serial Killer AUs so. I finally finished it. Might add more later. Who knows. I own nothing, enjoy!

Peter looks at him one day, after the bite and a refused offer and so much blood spilled between all of them, and says, “So you’re the clever one.”

And Stiles - thinks: _why, how nice of you to notice_ and _well obviously you haven’t talked to Scott or Derek recently as they tend to disagree and I hear their opinions are invaluable_ and _oh, this is going to be fun_ \- smiles, all teeth and charm and vitriolic wit, and says, “Yeah, something like that.”

.

Before his mom died - before Dad fell down the bottle and Stiles realized that no matter how much he gave to Scott he would never truly get it. Before he saw the little redheaded girl in first grade and recognized the gleam of something in her eyes; before werewolves and packs and hunter were even a thought; before the world fell down the rabbit hole - she would lie in bed and stare at the ceiling like it held something he couldn’t see, and told him how there was something born under his skin with him, and he couldn’t let it out.

He couldn’t.

(But this was before werewolves. Before Jackson pushing him every day and Scott always forgetting he was there too. Before too close calls and finding something in the forest, and redefining the term human and if he even truly fit into it.)

She would turn to him with a face frozen and eyes that held the same something he saw in Lydia, the same something he saw staring in the mirror back at him every day, and made him promise to keep it in. Not to let it out, not to tell his dad.

She gave him tips and ideas on how to hide the way he was born broken. He taught himself how to disguise darkness as something else by cloaking it in jokes and investing himself in textbooks and things no seven-year-old should be learning - much less understanding and comprehending - anyway.

 _Promise me,_ she said, and Stiles - before bullies and getting kicked in the hallways, forgotten every time, ignored by his best friend, a disappointment and hated by his father. Before werewolves and magic, before forced bites and burning homes and too many family members who end up dead. Before Deaton looking at him like he could see the same something Stiles could never stop staring at and saying _you’re a spark,_ before Stiles learned the word inside-out and finally had a name for the thing that had been haunting him his whole life - nodded and said, “I promise.”

He never really meant it.

Scott says he’s too curious, too careless and thoughtless as if every move he’s ever made hasn’t been calculated down to the last step and every joke analyzed down to the final syllable, and Stiles just laughs until Scott joins in.

He knows how to hide what he is, what he does, and he knows how to do it well. Always have, always will.

It’s even more fun when werewolves enter the picture - blood on Scott’s arm and a girlfriend who’s secretly a hunter, and a genius banshee who doesn’t know it bored and stuck in AP Calc - and suddenly, everything clicks.

.

It’s not the beginning and definitely not the end, but it is a start of something new when Peter smiles at him with blood dripping from his teeth and eyes looking something brighter than blue in the moonlight, and Stiles’ heartbeat quickens like it does when Isaac gets cut or Allison looks a little too close.

Stiles licks his lips and does nothing to tamper the quick pace of his heart in his chest. He glances over at Peter afterwards, at the pack meeting where Derek is droning on about something Stiles has already taken care of and Scott follows him up with the good boy hero speech, to see Peter already watching him: head tilted the slightest bit and eyes gleaming.

Stiles widens his smile and sends Peter a wink.

Peter watches. Stiles watches Peter.

It’s a perfect beginning to Stiles’ new game.

.

They really should have looked further into most of their cases- Scott and Derek and Isaac and Allison, and every other person in Beacon Hills who pretends to care. The missing men and women and too young to die teenagers, and only so many tragedies can be blamed on the supernatural.

(It’s one of the things that strikes him as funny in the Argent rhetoric. About how supernatural creatures, how werewolves and banshees and everything not-normal, are the true monsters. When really, too often it’s the ‘normal’ part attached to the creatures that the darker seed originates from.

He thinks it’s hilarious that out of all the monstrosity in the world, the Argents seem to focus on the supernatural aspects when the most prone to evil are the human. The Argent’s themselves are proof. He’s proof.

He thinks it’s funny how they haven’t noticed yet.

He’ll think it’s funny when they finally do.)

.

“I should have known,” Peter starts.

He’s standing behind Stiles as he cleans up his latest mess, wiping gloved red hands off onto a rag. Stiles leans over to take another glance at his spell book to finish the job. Peter continues.

“A part of me thought, maybe,” Peter says, and Stiles can practically feel how he shakes his head, “but you are just,” he can hear Peter’s smile as he says it, “too good, I suppose.”

Light laughter echoes from Peter behind him, illustrating his next words, “I should have listened to myself, hm? Who would have ever thought you were capable of this,” Stiles turns around with an eyebrow raised and is met with a smirking Peter gesturing to Stiles latest project: a tourist family no one knew was leaving, people no one will miss.

“But then again,” Peter says, “that’s exactly how you want it.”

Stiles turns around and closes his spell book, before he turns back to Peter with the rag in his hands. He sends sparks down his arm and the rag begins to burn.

Peter watches Stiles. Stiles watches Peter.

The air smells like smoke, until Stiles contains it.

When the rag is nothing but ash, Stiles opens his hand and lets the remains flood through his fingers before pocketing his spell book, and crossing his arms.

“I really thought you would have figured it out sooner,” he drawls, “you’re getting slow, old man.”

When Peter laughs he shakes the forest. Stiles likes how it feels to have the earth quaking beneath him.

.

He knows he’s good: sharp brain, sharp smile, sharp wit.

But he remembers early times where he miscalculated, and his Dad would stare at him a little too long, would look a little too close, would ask a few more questions that had Stiles appearing calm but grasping for answers.

Sometimes he wonders if his Dad saw. If he saw it in his Mom, or if she was good enough too where she could hide it.

He wonders if his Dad sees. He wonders if he’d care.

.

Peter asks, “What’s holding you here?” and only lifts an eyebrow when Stiles smiles manically and turns to him to say, “Fun.”

He’s not fooled by the unimpressed act, however. He sees the same gleam in Peter’s eyes that he saw in Lydia, his mom, himself.

So he knows Peter understands. Knows it’s why he sticks around too, well, besides for Stiles.

Peter sighs and Stiles laughs.

.

It’s Derek of all people, who talks to Stiles about it.

Stiles had told Peter not to be so obvious, to stop hanging around him like a puppy with his new toy. Peter nearly bit his head off, but Derek approaching him is proof that Stiles was right.

It’s after yet another pack meeting, but this one at least Scott remembered the tell him about, that Derek says, “Stiles, see me after,” like Derek’s some kind of fucking boss. He does stay though, out of curiosity.

“Oh yes, alpha master?” Stiles says, because if he lets himself think about how Derek tried to boss him around, he’ll get angry and out of control, and he doesn’t need to be either right now, so he buries down the anger and covers it with a tired smile: laying the sarcasm on thick.

But Derek doesn’t grunt or rolls his eyes like he does. He straightens instead and says, “Peter.”

Stiles blinks, “Peter,” he parrots. Slows his heart beat while his brain works as fast as possible.

This time, Derek sighs, and runs a hand over his eyes.

“You smell like him,” Derek cuts in, and he narrows his eyes, a bushy eyebrow rising in question, “why?”

But, the thing is, where Peter assumes nothing will stray from plan, Stiles assumes everything will. So he’s prepared for this scenario, prepared for a million others too.

He bends himself over in a laugh, one that has Derek sighing again and Stiles thinks that must be a Hale trait, and leans back up to wipe fake tears from his eyes.

“Oh-oh dude, no, ha, no. Um I actually, ran into him on the way here. Like actually ran into as in chest on chest, you know?”

And it’s not the best lie Stiles has ever told, but he thinks the tripping over words and stuttering add a bit of teenage charm his words must be missing. And by the way Derek lowers his eyebrows until he’s back to his natural scowl, Stiles would say it’s worked pretty well.

“Okay, just,” Derek looks at him, actually looks at him and Stiles makes sure every one of his shield is up while he keeps smiling a forced easy smile, “stay safe.”

Stiles has to hold himself back.

He nods, “Of course, dude.”

When Derek finally leaves him, Stiles closes his eyes and talks himself down.

.

Stiles isn’t foolish enough to think he’ll never be caught in Beacon Hills.

There’s are too many variables, too many coincidences and conjoined events for someone to not stumble onto his work while he’s still editing it. Still pushing and pulling the pieces in the right direction.

Because while the supernatural spontaneousness of the town makes for a good cover, it also makes for unpredicted vulnerability that Stiles can’t risk.

People get curious, get careless searching for things. He should know, curiosity is basically tied into his being.

So it’s no surprise to either of them, when five months after Peter found out and two after he joined in, that Stiles tells him they need to move.

“Well if fun isn’t enough anymore,” Peter sighs, before smiling, “then, as you wish,” and Stiles heartbeat quickens.

.

They ditch his Jeep in the woods, but close enough to town where no one will think he’s left Beacon. Not yet.

He cuts his arm, hissing as he drips a generous amount of blood over his seats before whispering a spell that has his skin closing as quickly as he’d opened it.

He goes alone so that when the dream team arrives they’ll only have his scent. He cloaks himself as he walks back to Peter. Taking a moment to appreciate Peter’s rugged grin as he leans against their getaway car.

“Is it time?” Peter asks, fake oblivious, and Stiles rolls his eyes and mutters, “Get your ass in the car before I leave it behind,” much to Peter’s amusement.

They switch cars twenty miles out of town, and change their pattern every thirty.

Peter drives and Stiles stares out the window. Stares at his hands. Stares at the mirror where he can see his own eyes staring back.

 _Hide it,_ his mother said, before. Before, Scott forgot and Allison got too close and Isaac never cared.

Lydia never got a chance, always too close to Jackson to create her own orbit, and maybe Stiles should have helped. Maybe he should feel bad about it. But he didn’t and he doesn’t.

He stares at the road in front of him, and wonders if he can make it bleed just as pretty as the one behind them.

He glances at Peter and can already see the hungry, feral gleam reflective of himself in his eyes.

Stiles thinks the air starts to taste a little more like blood and a little less like magic the further they drive past state lines.

He stares at the road, smiles, and waits.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Please leave comments and kudos and I am rhymesofblue on tumblr.


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